


My Prayer Is Schizophrenic

by vocalfew



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Blankface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7509226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocalfew/pseuds/vocalfew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I never meant to hurt you, Tyler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Prayer Is Schizophrenic

Tyler, if you're reading this, I want you to know that I'm truly sorry.  
  
I don't know where you are, but I know what I did.  
  
At least, what I think was me. It's all kind of hazy still.  
  
I do remember some parts. It makes me sick to think about it, the way I hurt you.  
  
I would never hurt you.  
  
I guess I thought I would, cause I did.  
  
I remember that it was like being in someone else's body. Being trapped inside someone, like some sort of weird human cage.   
I was screaming. I was screaming as loud as I could, I'm surprised that you couldn't hear me at all.   
Could you hear me?   
  
  
I remember driving your car, I remember dirt covering my face, I remember looking in the mirror, and I remember throwing up. All over the sink.   
I can't even remember if I bothered to clean it up.  
  
  
The point is, I would never hurt you, Tyler. I feel like it was all a dream, but I woke up on the bathroom floor with a migraine.   
I think it's what people would describe as what a hangover feels like. I was scared the minute I saw blood. I didn't even believe it at first, honestly.   
I went to go find you, and you were gone. There was blood everywhere, and it really scared me. Was it mine? Yours? Someone else's?  
  
I remember something else, too. My eyes hurt. It felt like someone took a letter opener to them or something.   
I tried to rub the feeling away, but it wouldn't go. I think I looked in the mirror once, but it was too dark to see. We were in the car then.   
I was wearing my makeup. But no, I actually wasn't. Usually makeup rubs off, right? Either way, they were really red, like I usually make them for shows.   
Like they'd been rubbed raw. Scratched, even.   
  
  
Like I said, a lot of it is hazy, but I do remember hitting you. I remember having that awful feeling in my throat, and that carsick gut feeling like it   
was the first day of Middle School.   
My fist hit your jaw a dozen times. A thousand. A million. What scares me the most about remembering this, is how good it felt.  
I remember feeling triumph as you started to leak blood from your face, your nose, your mouth. You spit on the ground and begged for me to stop, but I didn't.   
I couldn't. I didn't want to.  
  
I didn't stop until you were black and blue, until you could barely speak, until you gurgled on your own blood.  
I still didn't want to stop. I felt like I didn't need to stop. Something dragged me away. It pulled me off of you.   
Something in me, despite the screaming, rang in my head like cymbals. It was loud and it hurt, and that's when everything gets hard to remember again.  
I don't know where you are right now, or even if you're still alive, and I don't know what happened to you.   
I want you to know that I'm sorry, and that I hope you're okay. Alive. I hope I left you alive.  
  
I would never hurt you.

**Author's Note:**

> My take on Blankface. 
> 
> Enjoy.


End file.
